


Escort

by YAJJ



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: For that one reviewer on FFN who wanted no winry only daddy roy and kid ed, Gen, Parental!Roy, Stalking, here's not that you're welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YAJJ/pseuds/YAJJ
Summary: Winry is in town to work on Ed's automail, and nearly lands herself into trouble. Good thing Colonel Mustang is there to help her out.





	Escort

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a semi-sequel to A Lot Can Happen in Two Days, only because I got a review on that fic on FFN requesting "no winry, only daddy roy and ed", so I had to defend my girl's honor. This was originally going to tie in more with ALCHI2D, but... well, this is where we are.

It was too damn cold.

  
That was all Winry knew. It was nearly winter, her jackass of a patient had not only gotten himself tossed in a hospital _and_ had forgotten to send someone to pick her up when she came to work on his “apparently broken, i dunno” automail, and it was quite simply _too damn cold._

  
She didn’t have the hands to wrap herself up in, with one hand occupied with her toolbox and the other with her suitcase, she couldn’t pull her shawl tighter, or pull her scarf up, or even just shiver into her arms.

  
She just had to stand there and _freeze_.

  
And Ed didn’t even have the _decency_ to tell her what had happened! Only her common sense led her to the conclusion that he’d landed his stupid ass in the hospital. He hadn’t said a word, but the fact that he had called her to come, rather than just showing up out of _nowhere_ and making her pull _three_ all nighters in a row, told her that whether it be at the whim of his surprisingly stubborn little brother or a certain persistent commanding officer, he was stuck in town, at a hospital.

  
So, with no knowledge of _how_ bad it was, just that he was having a “hard time” with it, she had come prepared for anything as big as having to completely replace it, to simply a loose bolt. 

  
Just _why_ she thought she liked him sometimes…. Just…. _Ugh_.

  
Stupid boys. Stupid boys and their stupid pride that made them unable to give her a little clue what she was down here for.

  
She stopped for a moment and set down her toolbox and suitcase so she could blow into her hands and warm them off. At least, she thought, she had received the most _lovely_ pair of gloves for her birthday from Granny. It was like a furnace in there—her fingers hardly even felt the cold. She wasn’t sure that she’d come out of this with her nose and ears, but at least her fingers should be intact.

  
There was a noise behind her, like a scuff, and she started hard, turning her head. Her eyes darted all around, but no one behind her stood out—she probably heard a passerby. Nothing to get worried at.

  
A country girl coming to a big city like this invoked in herself a remarkable amount of paranoia. That was probably all that was. Maybe she was a little nervous, fearing she’d get lost. But she was fine.

  
She had her trusted wrench, after all. A weapon as good as any blade.

  
She shook her head, picked up her burdens, and kept going. No point in sitting around freezing her eyes shut. The sooner she got to the address Ed had given her, the sooner she could be out of this chill.

  
She followed the directions the lady at the station had given her, because she really didn’t know a thing about this city and really didn’t fancy getting lost. She kept her eye on every street sign, looking for the next one to turn down. The woman had said “turn left on Balder Avenue, and then go down seven block and it’s on your left”. Well, she was nearly to Balder Ave (she thought) if the woman’s spacial awareness was to be trusted.

  
Another noise, a little closer, made Winry jump. Her suitcase fell from her hand in her start, but her toolbox stayed faithfully present.

  
She turned her head back, picking out faces in the crowd. There were a few from earlier, but she supposed that any of them could be heading her way.

  
Still, an involuntary shudder run up her back as she reached for her suitcase, and it wasn’t at all from the chill.

  
Then, out of nowhere, an arm latched around her shoulder, a voice said “Miss Rockbell!” and Winry just about screamed her lungs right out.

  
It took her far too long to realize that she sort of recognized that voice.

  
She whipped her head up, eyes wider than saucers, quaking in her boots like she was about to lose her life. At first, she didn’t recognize him—a short man not much taller than her, hair black as night, all wrapped up in a black coat that, she realized, was poking out a thin stripe of blue from the center.

  
If she wasn’t mistaken, that was Colonel Mustang.

  
Still, Mustang spoke very loudly at her as if he was Major Armstrong. “I was wondering where you had gone!” he chirped, sounding absolutely delighted and so _very out of character_. He leaned his head down, and suddenly touched his temple to her hair, a very affectionate gesture from a man she didn’t know very well and she almost genuinely didn’t know if he even had a heart.

  
“Wh-where I had—?”

  
“You must have just missed the street!” Mustang chirped, gripping her arm in a vice and shooting a look over her head. “I was waiting for you!”

  
He was waiting? Had Ed sent someone to pick her up? Or…?

  
No. There was something off. Mustang generally didn’t speak like this, nor was he so willing to touch even those he knew. She had heard many a story from Mr Hughes, the increasingly creative ways the colonel would get out of being touched. That he had so willingly half-embraced her, someone he knew only by association, there _had_ to be something up.

  
And how had he _found_ her like that?

  
Indeed, just a moment later, Mustang touched their heads together again, and in a very low voice, he said “play along.”

  
Play along? With what? “Uh…”

  
“There’s been someone following you for a couple blocks,” Mustang said, eyes darting around suspiciously. _That_ seemed more attuned to his normal behavior, all sneaky and suspecting.

  
“Following me…?”

  
“Stopping when you stop,” Mustang explained, “turning when you turn. _Definitely_ watching you. Be wary. Play along.”

  
“Y-yes, sir,” Winry mumbled, eyes wide. So it hadn’t just been a feeling? All that paranoia had been something… legitimate? “H-how nice to see you again, Mr Mustang.”

  
“Mmm,” Mustang said, even though the noise was at the back of his throat, it seemed very loud. “And you, Miss Rockbell. How _long_ it’s been! And how much you’ve grown!”

  
And even though the words were undoubtedly an act, the inflection behind his voice spoke of gentle sincerity. She supposed… it _had_ been a while since she had seen him last… had she grown so much that he would notice? Or was he just putting on a convincing act?

  
As much as she wondered, she still thought that he played the part of a very convincing uncle rather well.

  
“H-how is… how is work?” she asked halfway genuinely, because she didn’t know what she was supposed to say in these situations.

  
“Oh, it’s well as can be expected,” he said, not much for conversation apparently. His eyes darted over her head, and when she looked up at him, she noticed his eyes focused on one target. She turned her head around and spotted the most _sleaziest_ of sleazeballs rooted in his tracks, eyes wide, very much knowing that Colonel Mustang the Flame Alchemist knew he was there and what he was up to, and very much knowing that he could potentially be in huge danger.

  
And the _look_ , that Mustang had in his eyes, it spoke of fury and protection and vengeance. It spoke a single command: _“You had better respect her.”_

  
And even after that, his eyes dark and angry and knowing who the stronger individual was here, it commanded, _“And if you won’t respect her, then you had better respect me.”_

  
Though Winry knew that the gaze was made to make another individual feel vulnerable and frightened and so very alone in the world, it made her feel something else. Hunkered half in his embrace, kept safe from a mysterious creep who had been following her for who even knew how long, it made her feel safe. Protected. Like no matter where she went, there was someone there for her.

  
She hunkered a little closer to him, pressing into his black coat and feeling the warmth coming from him, feeling safe. The movement startled him from the staring contest he was currently dominating. He turned down to look at her, eyebrows lifted in surprise, then to Winry’s surprise, a soft smile flitted over his face. “You must be _frozen_ ,” he hummed, his voice softer now, as if he was no longer grabbing the attention of the stalker and every person in the vicinity, like he really wondered. He stepped away from her and shed his black coat, draping it around her dramatically. Winry thankfully dropped her cases and slid her arms into the sleeves, breathing in deep the warmth of his body heat and scent. He laughed and put his arm back around her, then started walking forward again, her suitcase in hand. “C’mon. I’ll take you to the hospital. You _are_ here to see Ed, aren’t you?”

  
“Ugh, _yes_. That moron _would_ pick the coldest day of the year to ruin his automail. The trip isn’t even _fun_ now.”

  
Mustang’s eyes sparkled with mirth, shaking his head. “His timing _is_ uncanny, isn’t it? Manages to ruin your day in the worst possible way, that one.”

  
Winry laughed gently, looking up at him. Even though the act was undoubtedly over, a creepy stalker chased off by sheer force of will, he seemed remarkably at ease with the world, not at all like a tough military man showing off his blues. And now that he had so kindly given her his coat, he had to be cold… “...Yeah, he’s been doing that since he was little,” she agreed. “...Aren’t you cold, Mr Mustang?”

  
Mustang shrugged his shoulders heavily, not seeming to care about the brutal chill at all. “This uniform is surprisingly insulated,” he said instead, turning a corner. Sure enough, just ahead, the hospital and her stupid, moronic patient were just in sight. _Good_.

  
She buried her face in the collar of his black coat for the remainder of the walk, realizing suddenly that if he hadn’t come in when he had, she could be _very_ far away from here and it could be very much _not_ of her own volition. She was glad that something had compelled this strange man that a part of her both feared and admired to walk this way. She didn’t know _what_ she would have done otherwise. Not even her wrench could fight off a sneak attack.

  
“Hey, Mr Mustang?” she wondered, suddenly going red but not from the wind. “Thanks.”

  
He smiled at her warmly, and again that feeling of some sort of distant uncle, or even a detached father-in-law, came over her.

  
“No trouble at all, Miss Rockbell.”


End file.
